


Warm Hands

by olenna



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, jon getting hurt and dany helping him, jon is king in the north and dany goes to winterfell to become allies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 08:20:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8364838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olenna/pseuds/olenna
Summary: Even though weeks have passed after Jon Snow's stabbing in Castle Back, he still has scars and wounds that hurt him. Daenerys helps him healing his wounds in Winterfell, as she is staying there to seal an alliance with the North.A one-shot after Season Six of Game of Thrones.





	

Daenerys Targaryen’s first night at Winterfell was a snowy night. It had been a long day, an alliance between House Stark and House Targaryen had just been sealed. The day had been full of discussions of terms, war strategies and even instructions for the care of the dragons. It was late at night, probably midnight, as she entered the chambers that had been prepared for her in the castle.

Winter had come, as the Starks had always predicted. It was cold, and they said it would be much colder in a few months. She worried about her eastern army, none of them had experienced such a harsh cold before; they would have to train hard for the winter battles.

She was not used to low temperatures, either. She had lived in Essos her whole life. Braavos, Pentos, Qarth, Astapor and Meereen were all warm places, and she had gotten used to that temperature. She had to stay in Winterfell for a while, so she would have to get used to the cold now. However, it was not as terrible as she had imagined. _I have fire inside me_ , she remembered. Through her veins ran the blood of the dragon.

The night had fallen and she was lighting a couple of candles that were settled in a tall table in her room. The Starks had given her a wide bedroom in the castle. It was completely gray, just as the rest of the castle. It was the color of House Stark, she remembered. Out of her window, she only saw gray and white, stone covered by snow.

Winterfell was still being reconstructed. Years had passed after Theon Greyjoy’s sack of the city, and when the Boltons resided in it, they did not care about fixing the ruins. Only when Jon Snow and his sister Sansa came back, they decided to start their home’s reconstruction.

It had been complicated for Jon Snow to agree to take in Theon Greyjoy in the castle, as he had been responsible for the sack of Winterfell. If it weren’t for Sansa, who trusted Theon very dearly, who escaped with him from the Boltons and who understood that he was not the same boy he was when he sacked Winterfell, he would not be staying in the castle. But Theon was Asha Greyjoy’s brother, a strong ally of House Targaryen. Having Queen Daenerys by their side was much more valuable, Sansa had told Jon when they were discussing with Tyrion and Daenerys the terms of the alliance.

Daenerys was standing at the window, staring at the snow falling down. It was the first time she had seen snow in her life.

“It’s beautiful, don’t you think?” Dany asked Missandei, who was setting up towels and a hot bath for Dany.

“What is, Your Grace?” the handmaiden asked.

“The snow,” Dany said. “I’d never seen such a thing before.”

“Neither had I, Your Grace,” Missandei replied.

Dany smiled. She cared about the girl, she had been by her side for a couple of years now, and proved herself to be fully loyal to her. However, their relationship was always a queen-and-handmaiden relationship. Missandei always replied to her in a stoic way, too formal and distant, at least emotionally, always too aware that she was talking to the queen. Dany wondered if she would ever have a more intimate friendship, she felt like everyone around her was also too aware that she was the queen.

“I cannot imagine how tall The Wall must be, the one King Jon was telling me about. He says it is almost impossible to see the top when you are down below. And it is all made of _ice_!” she exclaimed in a childish way.

“That sounds wonderful, Your Grace.”

She took a matchbox in her hands and lit a match when she heard a slight knock on her door.

 **“** It is,” said a husky voice behind her. She turned around and saw Jon Snow standing in the frame of the open door with furs under one arm, and holding his walking stick with his other hand. “And you’d be amazed if you reached the top, Your Grace. There is an elevator for it.”

“King Jon,” she greeted him, lighting the last candle. “Come in, please.”

“I wanted to welcome you personally to the castle,” he said, supporting himself with his cane as he walked, slightly hobbling, into her dimly lit room. She noticed he grimaced slightly. She had been told he had been using the cane since his resurrection, as he had multiple wounds that made it difficult to walk.

“Please, leave us,” Dany told Missandei. With a bow, the handmaiden left the room.

He looked down at the furs under his arm and said, “These are the best furs we have in the castle. I’ve been told this is the first time you experience low temperatures.”

“That is very kind of you,” she told him. “Thank you. Yes, leave them there,” she said as he placed the furs on her bed.

When he tried to stand up straight again, he winced in pain and hugged his torso with his arm.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

“Yes, Your Grace. You needn’t worry,” he said, still hugging himself. “The dragons will be well fed and attended, and if there’s anything else you need, please let me know,” he continued, ignoring the pain.

She thanked him again. She thought it was kind of him to bring them himself and not have a servant do it for him. He stood hunchback with his hand holding his abdomen and ribs.

“This might be the first time in decades that a Targaryen has stepped a foot on Winterfell,” he smiled, still trying to be a nice host despite his evident pain, “and much less for an alliance.”

It was true, she thought. The last Targaryen on Winterfell had probably been his brother Rhaegar when he came to see his beloved Lyanna Stark. During her whole childhood, Dany had been taught by her brother Viserys that the Starks were traitors, all of them turned their backs to House Targaryen during the Rebellion, all of them Usurper’s dogs. She had grown up believing that this house was her enemy, that if it were not for them, her father would still be alive, and that she would have grown up as a princess in a castle and not as a child looking for a home in the streets of Essos. She had hated the Starks.

However, when King Robert Baratheon found out that she was pregnant with Drogo’s child, Jon’s father, Ned Stark, had done everything he could to save her from being murdered. He even quit his position as Hand of the King, Ser Barristan had told her. Ned Stark had been the most honorable man in the Seven Kingdoms, and his bastard son, Tyrion had said to her, was the spitting image of him. Honor and loyalty ran in his blood.

“I am glad our Houses are no longer in discord,” she said. “I am sure this alliance will be valuable for the Kingdoms.”

“I agree,” Jon replied. “What has happened between our families, or between our fathers, shall now be left behind.”

Dany nodded. “There is nothing our dead fathers have done that we can change,” she said. “That rebellion is over now, and the wars to come require us to be in peace.”

She was learning to talk like a politician, she thought. She no longer felt like a young girl. With every conquest and with every alliance, she learned more and more about war.

 _His father tried to save my life,_  she remembered. The least she could do was to make amends with his family, especially when both Houses needed each other so much.

After he winced in pain once more, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know if you have heard…I got stabbed some weeks ago,” he replied.

“Everyone in Westeros knows about the stabbing, my king,” she replied. Calling someone _“my king”_ or _“your grace”_ was completely new to her, she was used to hear it, but not to say it. She was in the North of Westeros, though, and Jon Snow was the King in the North. She was staying in his castle, the least she could do was to treat him with the respect he deserved.

“Walking up and down the stairs in the castle increases the pain, I think,” he told her.

“You should not be doing that, then.”

Jon shook his head and said, “It will pass, Your Grace. I should go back upstairs to my chambers now, if you excuse me.”

He adjusted his body with his cane to start walking out of the room, but he groaned loudly when he tried to take a step. His stomach contracted as if it had received a fist punch.

“No,” Daenerys told him. “Don’t walk.”

Jon was holding his left ribcage.

“You should take a seat,” she told him, pointing her bed.

With one hand on his cane, and Dany holding his other arm to help him, he sat down on the edge of her bed.

“Where is the pain?” she asked him.

“M-my wounds,” Jon stuttered, his face still in a frown.

“Let me see,” she told him.

Jon looked up at her. “Your Grace, don’t worry about it. It will pass.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” Dany said. “Let me see if I can help.”

He hesitated and unbuttoned his doublet. He left it beside him on the bed and, with much effort, he started taking his shirt off.

“Slowly,” Dany told him, and she helped him pull it over his head.

He revealed his scarred and wounded torso to her. Dany tried not to look worried by the five deep wounds he had all over it.

“It takes a long time for them to heal,” he said. “I thought they were better by now, they had not hurt in days.”

“Lie down,” she told him.

Jon looked up at her and said, “Just leave me with a Maester, Your Grace. This is not necessary. Maybe the pain will go away by itself.”

“Let me help,” Dany said as she stacked a couple of pillows on the bed. “My husband…had a wounded chest as well when he was alive. I took care of his wounds every night.”

He stayed silent for a moment, and then nodded. He lifted his legs and placed them on the bed. Dany grabbed the back of his head and helped him lie his torso down more easily. He rested his head and back on her pillows to be half sitting. She walked into the corner of the room and found a small towel. She dipped it in a pot filled with water, which was probably cold already. It didn’t matter, if she was going to dampen his wounds, the water could not be too hot.

She wrung the towel, took one of the candles she had lit and placed it on the night drawer, next to Jon, to have a better view of his wounds, most of them were already scars. She sat next to him on the edge of the bed. The candlelight against the pale skin of his torso gave her a better view of his scars. She stared at them and felt her stomach tighten at the thought of him being stabbed so many times. How must it have felt?

She started rubbing the towel gently on the wound on his right shoulder. He flinched at the contact as the towel was cold, and so was the weather. She rubbed it very softly, wondering who had made that wound. She proceeded cleaning the wound placed on his chest, right where his heart was. _That’s the one that killed him_ , she thought. Jon did not speak while she cleaned him. He was probably too embarrassed.

He closed his eyes in pain and she looked up to his face. It was a very northern face, she thought, all of his features looked hard against the candle light. He opened his eyes, grey as Winterfell, and she looked down to his chest again.

She placed her free hand on his abdomen, while the other one cleaned the scar next to it. She felt the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed. She wondered what the story behind every scar was. Who were these “black brothers”? Who were these members of The Night's Watch that stabbed their Lord Commander to death for not agreeing with him? _He was left out on the snow, in the cold of the night, alone to die_ , she remembered Tyrion telling her.

Dany lifted her hand to clean the scar on his left ribcage, and she saw there were drops of blood falling from it.

“A wound has opened,” she told him. “Just a little, fortunately. It is small enough not to need stitches.”

Jon frowned and nodded.

“Missandei?” Dany raised her voice. The handmaiden hurried into the room. “Bring me bandages, please, and milk of the poppy as well,” she told her. “Oh, and boiled wine too.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” the girl said. Dany smiled at her and she walked out of the room.

“Your hands are warm,” Jon said, surprised, “aren’t you cold, Your Grace?”

 _Doesn’t he know I have fire inside me? That I am immune to the flames?_ Dany thought. He probably did, her story had gone around the world, Tyrion had told her.

She smiled and said, “I am cold, but not much. I am sure you have been in much worse temperatures.”

Jon nodded and said, “This is not cold compared to what it is like to live at The Wall.”

“So I’ve heard,” she replied.

Moments later, Missandei walked into the room with what Daenerys had asked her to bring.

“Just leave them in the night drawer. Right there, yes. Thank you, Missandei,” Dany said.

“Do you need anything else, Your Grace?” Missandei asked her, standing next to the bed.

“No, thank you,” Dany said. “We’ll let him rest now.”

Missandei bowed and left the room.

Dany grabbed the cup of boiled wine and damped the towel in it.

“This is for your open wound,” she told him. He nodded and she adjusted her body to rub his wound with the towel. She leaned in, trying to see every millimeter of the wound. It was not getting infected, fortunately. She damped the towel in the wine once more and stroked Jon’s wound, very gently. He hissed in pain.

 _It had been just like this with Drogo,_ Dany remembered. After his wound got infected, she cleaned it and took care of him every second. She remembered how she was sitting beside him, while he lay down and she stroked and cleaned his wounds, even moments before he died. Even when she knew that the _maegi_ ’s curse was irremediable, that there was no use cleaning his wounds no more, even before she pressed that pillow on his face, she never stopped taking care of him. And now she was cleaning such similar wounds in The King in the North’s body.

“I’m going to need you to sit up straight,” Dany told Jon, blinking rapidly to stop her tears before they fell. She unraveled the bandages Missandei had brought.

“Alright,” he said. He pressed his elbows on the mattress and pushed up. Dany grabbed him by the back to help him sit up, gently, trying not to hurt him.

She pressed the bandage over his wound and asked him to hold it there. He lifted one hand from the mattress and pressed the corner of the bandage where she had told him. Dany stretched the long side of it and passed it around his body, below his arm, all the way to his back, and returning to where the wound was. She passed it around, again and again, her hand rubbing his back from side to side while she passed the bandage through there, and then she passed it around once more. All of her movements were slow and careful to avoid hurting him more.

"There," she said, "this will be of much help for that open wound."

"Thank you," he said softly, he was having less strength to talk.

After his wound and his whole ribcage were covered by the bandages, Dany stood up and handed him the cup with milk of the poppy.

“Drink,” Dany told him.

“Please no,” Jon said, holding the glass in his hand. “The taste is…terrible, Your Grace,”

“Drink,” Dany insisted, ignoring his excuse. “Otherwise the pain will take too long to stop.”

“I will wait until the pain goes away by itself,” Jon replied, with a tired voice. _Are all men so stubborn?_ Dany thought. He reminded her of Drogo once more. How he did not want any medicine, any milk of the poppy for the pain. 

“Drink,” she told him a third time, eyeing the cup and then at him again. If Tyrion were here he would be amused at how she commanded the King in the North in his own castle. “This will also help you sleep. You shall feel better by the morning.”

Jon looked at the cup, closed his eyes and drank it all.

“Good,” she said when he was finished. She took the cup from his hands and placed it in the night drawer.

She indicated him to lie down again and moved aside some of the pillows to let his head rest in only one, that way his body could be completely horizontal.

“You should get some rest now,” Dany told him.

He tried to sit up and said, “Thank you very much, Your Grace. You are too kind. I should go to my chambers now, then.”

“No,” Dany said, “you should not. Your body is too weak by now. You should not move.”

Dany took the bed furs and placed them on top of him. His bare torso must have been really cold.

“Just rest,” she said. “When you feel better, you can go back to your chambers, but now try to get some sleep.”

“I-I should not sleep in your chambers, Your Grace,” he spoke with the little strength he had. “I should go back to mine…”

Dany rolled his eyes at him. “You don’t even have the strength to talk, my king,” she said. “I will not let you walk up the stairs with that opened wound.”

“But…What about you, Your Grace? Where will you sleep?” Jon asked her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she replied. “Just sleep, my king.”

Jon nodded faintly and closed his eyes.

She took the towel and cups out of the night drawer and placed more furs on the sofa next to her bed for her to sleep there.

Soon enough, Jon had already fallen asleep. She walked to the bed and lifted the furs to take off his shoes and leave them on the floor. Dany sat on the sofa with her legs up, and covered herself with more furs. She stared at Jon Snow’s face. It saddened her to think he had been murdered for what he believed in, for doing the necessary to defend the kingdoms and to defend the ones in need. _When my time comes, I hope I die for the same reason_ , she thought to herself. She thought it was admirable.

 

When Dany woke up the next morning, curled in the small sofa, the candles had already been consumed. Jon was still asleep in her bed; his bare, bandaged torso was covered by her bed furs.

Jon opened his eyes some moments later. Dany sat up to see how he was.

“The pain has decreased,” he said, with a higher voice than the night before, as she stood up beside him. “I am sorry for bothering you last night, and for…sleeping in your bed while you slept on the sofa,” he told her, glancing at the sofa with the furs where she had slept. “That is no way to treat a queen.”

“Nonsense,” Dany said. “You did not bother me at all, my king.”

“It has been very considerate of you,” he said. “Lord Tyrion tells me you are a good woman,” he continued, “generous, you care about the people.”

She smiled and said, “That’s kind of him. He’s told me the same things about you. Generous, cares for the people.”

Jon smiled too and tried to sit up against the pillows. “I’ve heard that…” he winced in pain, “…you took care of the sick Astapori at the gates of Meereen.”

“It was the least I could do,” she said, and stayed silent for a moment. “I could not open the gates for them to come into the city. I still cannot forgive myself for that…" She sighed, looking at her hands. "You did open the gates, though…”

“Me?” he asked, confused.

“…For the Wildlings,” she finished.

“Ah yes, and it got me killed,” Jon joked.

Dany smiled sadly at him. How terrible could it have been, that his brothers of The Nights Watch ended up _killing_ him for it.

“Why?” she dared to ask. She had stayed silent about it the night before, while she cleaned every single scar, fearing he might not want to talk about his death. But this was too important, she thought, this was something too relevant in his life, and he was his strongest ally, so she felt the need to know something as crucial as the reason behind his assassination…and resurrection.

“How much do you know about it?” Jon asked her.

“Just that your brothers betrayed you for letting the Wildlings south of the Wall.”

Jon smiled, “It was silly of me not to explain to them more carefully the importance of letting them through. It was a harsh lesson, letting people know why you take a certain decision.” He paused, “The Black Brothers cared more about their bloody pride that they did not realize how vulnerable we were alone. And how unfair it would have been to leave the Wildlings North of the Wall with the Army of Others, when fighting as an army against them, both of us, had been our only hope.”

He was a centered man, she thought, and stubborn about what he believed in. He understood the importance of alliances, too. It was good that he was her ally.

“Now the dragons are here,” Jon continued. “We will be a stronger army with them,”

Dany remembered what his conditions were for him to join her cause: her dragons must help defeat The Others, otherwise, there would be no Seven Kingdoms to rule no more, he had told her.

Dany nodded, hiding her fear of riding her dragons to battle The Others.

“And how did you…” she said.

“Come back?” he completed her sentence. She nodded.

“A red priestess, she had been Stannis Baratheon’s advisor, I think. It was her who did it. She said I was…The Prince that was Promised, something about a prophecy,” he said. “I…don’t believe it, though. She might have been wrong. I’ve never been part of a prophecy or anything.”

 _The prince that was promised?_ Dany asked herself. She was going to ask Tyrion about it.

“I’m glad she did,” she smiled. She meant what she said. He looked at her and gave her a soft smile in return, perhaps he did not know how to reply.

A maester stormed into her room. “My King!” he exclaimed. “Why didn’t you come to me when your pain started?”

“I’ve been under good care of the Queen. Thank you, Maester Marwyn,” Jon said calmly. “I would also appreciate if you could knock before entering the Queen’s chambers.”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” the old man said. “I thought you…were in danger.”

“I am not,” Jon said. “I can assure you I am better now. Could you help me get back to my chambers, though?”

“Of course, Your Grace” Maester Marwyn said, as he helped Jon stand up from the bed. “You should rest for the day.”

Jon turned to look at Dany. They had a Small Council meeting that morning. She nodded in agreement with the maester.

“My sister Sansa will replace me in the meeting today, Your Grace.”

“That would be wise, my king,” Dany told him.

“Just…Jon,” he said.

“And Daenerys,” she replied quickly.

He nodded and said, “I must get going, then. Thank you, Daenerys. You are too kind.”

And with the help of the maester, Jon walked slowly to leave her chambers.

**Author's Note:**

> What I wanted with this fic was for them to be as intimate as possible without necessarily having sex. Dany touching his body, healing him, and seeing him so vulnerable from so close was an idea for an extremely bonding moment that came to my mind.   
> Comments are very important to improve my writing!  
> Please tell me what you think!


End file.
